Endgame
by EDZEL2
Summary: The Doctor has regenerated, and the Master has returned from the void. Can the Doctor help the Master this time?


Title: Endgame (1/1)

Author: Edzel2

Genre: Dr Who

Setting: S5, post 'Vampires of Venice' (slight spoilering for anything prior to and including that, but nothing major)

Style: Darkfic

Paring: Eleven/Simm! Master (implied Doctor/Master, not explicit)

Rating: Um, not sure – definitely not fluff though. NC17 to be on the safe side.

Word count: Approx 7,820

**lj-cut text="Endgame"**

**Endgame**

The rain is icy, relentless. The Doctor is soaked inside a minute and is glad that he'd left Amy behind. Listening to her complain about the inclement weather is not something he has the patience for right now.

And if _he's_ is soaked to the skin and starting to shiver, how is his quarry likely to be faring? Not well, if the reports he'd picked up were true- descriptions of the man he's looking for with increasing urgency are typically inconsistent (humans make notoriously bad witnesses when under duress) but they were all agreed on one important point; that he was not in the best of health by a long chalk. 'Not long for this world, if you ask me,' was how the last one had put it. So it's imperative that he find the Master quickly.

It had been Wilf and the Silver Cloak who had altered him to the fact of the Master's return. He'd sent Amy and Rory back home to spend some quality time together (since the trip to Venice had not gone quite as planned) and had been idling in the Vortex pondering the vexing enigma of who River Song might have killed when a long silent mobile had startled him from his thoughts.

'Doctor...?' Wilf had sounded uncertain, as if he might no longer be welcome, and the Doctor remembers their conversation in the cafe. It seems a long time ago now, the memory faded and distant, as if it had happened to someone else. Which, in a manner of speaking, it had.

'Wilfred. Yes, it's me.'

'Oh, that's a relief, then. You sound different... younger.'

The Doctor laughs, then. 'I only wish. What can I do for you, Wilfred? Is Donna …?'

'Oh yes, she's fine, Doctor, just fine. She and Shaun are going to be parents... I'm going to be a Granddad at last!' Wilf's pride is obvious.

'That's good news, yes, good news. I'm a... was a... Grandfather...' the words had come out of nowhere; he certainly hadn't intended to mention it, but his brain had had other ideas it seems.

'Really? Well, then you'll know all about it. I thought it'd make me feel old, but y'know, somehow it doesn't... anyway,' Wilf takes a breath and hurries on, almost as if he senses the Doctor's impatience for him to change the subject, 'You don't want to hear about all that. No, I rang because he's back. Your friend, the Master. He's back.'

The words are like a bucket of icy water down the Doctor's spine and he's up and pacing the console room almost before he realises what he's doing.

'Are you sure?'

'Well, I haven't seen him with my own eyes, if that's what you mean. But the Silver Cloak... well, we keep our ears to the ground, y'know... after all that Naismith business you can't be too careful. And you never did properly explain where he went. So I thought, best keep a look-out, just in case...'

'Wilfred, tell me. Tell me everything you know, and quickly.' The Doctor jams the phone between his ear and shoulder and starts to set co-ordinates for Earth, 2010. 'But first, what's the date?'

'Today? Well, yeah, it's um... fifth of November.'

'The year?'

Wilfred laughs. 'Oh, now you're having me on, Doctor.'

The Doctor suppresses a sigh of impatience. 'No, Wilfred, I'm not. Time Machine, remember? I'm no-when at the moment. Unless you want me to turn up six years ago or next Christmas, you have to give me the year.'

'Right. Twenty-ten.' Wilfred sounds slightly affronted and the Doctor regrets that, but where the Master is concerned he can't afford to dilly-dally. He did that once before and look where it got him... Not that he isn't settled in this body now, more or less... but the memory of standing alone in the Tardis in the certain knowledge that he didn't want to change is still much too fresh to be entirely comfortable.

'Okay. I'll be with you in... Oh, five minutes. Don't go away.'

'Doctor, wait! Where will you be? And how will I recognise you?'

'Wilfred, Wilfred... the cafe, okay? I could do with a nice cup of tea. And you'll know me.'

'But Doctor...'

The line has gone dead and Wilfred Mott looks at the phone with confusion. '… it's ten o'clock... they're closed...' He snaps the phone shut. He isn't too sure he likes the sound of this new Doctor... he sounds very impatient, and a little distant. What was it the Doctor had said to him in the cafe? "A new man goes sauntering away,"... yeah, that was it, a new man. Well he obviously remembers Wilf, but there'd been no warmth in his tone as there had been with the Doctor he knows. Oh well, there's nothing for it... he'll have to go.

'Where are you off to, Dad?' Sylvia is coming up the stairs with a mug of cocoa in her hand. 'I've got your cocoa here.'

'Sorry love, I'm off out for a bit. Up the allotment.'

'At this time of night? Whatever for?'

Wilf thinks quickly. 'New meteor shower been sighted, just got a call. Don't get 'em very often, love, I've gotta go. My age, never know if I'll see another one.'

Sylvia tuts. 'You're mad. Well just make sure you wrap up warm – take a hot flask with you.'

'Yeah, course I will love. See you in the morning.'

He doesn't relish the idea of walking all the way into town at this time of night so he calls Winston. 'Winston, can you give me a ride into town?'

'You want to go into town at this time of night, Wilfred? Not a good place, my friend.'

'I know, mate, I know – but there's someone I've got to see. Remember that man you said you saw... the man in the hoody or whatever they call it?'

'Yes, of course. Scared the life out of me, he did. What about him?'

'Look, I'll tell you on the way, all right?'

'Okay Wilfred, I'll be there in ten minutes.'

'So what's this all about, Wilfred?'

'I can't tell you everything, Winston, it's not safe. But you remember the Doctor?'

'Oh yes...' Winston gives a little shiver as he indicates and pulls out. 'That was a very strange business, very strange.'

'You're telling me,' Wilf says darkly. 'Well, the man in the hoody, he's someone the Doctor knows, and he's dangerous. The Doctor is on his way to find him. '

'You know, Wilfred, the man in the hoody... I don't know if I told you, but I'm pretty sure he was the man in my dreams.'

'Yeah, you did mention it, Winston,' Wilfred says. Winston is becoming terribly forgetful, Wilf has noticed. He doesn't like to mention it though.

'Here we are... why here, though? The cafe's closed.'

'Yeah, that's what I told him,' Wilf says unhappily. 'Look, d'you mind parking round the corner and waiting for me? It's just he's a bit jumpy, like, and he might not appear if he sees me with you.'

Winston gives Wilfred a strange look in the rear view mirror. 'He didn't seem too happy last time either.'

Wilf nods – so Winston's memory hasn't totally gone, then. 'Yeah... busy fella, the Doctor. Thanks Winston – hope I won't be too long.'

He clambers stiffly out of Winston's old cab and watches as it pulls away. He makes his slow way across the pavement to the cafe front. As he reaches the doorway the first raindrops start to fall.

'Oh blimey, that's all I need... hurry up, Doctor. I'll never hear the end of it from Sylvia if I get pneumonia.'

'What kept you?' The voice comes from beside him and he turns to see a man striding around the corner. It's hard to make out features in the orange street lights but he's tall and gangly, all elbows and angles. And definitely younger looking.

'Doctor, is that you?' Wilf feels nervous.

'Yep, last time I looked I was me. How are you, Wilfred?' The Doctor sticks out a bony hand and grabs Wilf's, pumps it up and down before dropping it again and looking at the cafe front with a frown. 'So, no tea then?'

'No, 'fraid not. I did try to tell you but you'd gone,' Wilf says, aware that they're both feeling a little awkward. 'So... how are you, Doctor?' So much he wants to ask... how long is it for the Doctor since the last time they'd met, how was his... death, was it painful and is he okay now... but he has the distinct impression that the Doctor doesn't want small talk or pleasantries, that he wants the information quickly and to go.

'Oh, you know... hard to say really. Okay, I think, mostly. You?'

'Yeah, mustn't grumble, mustn't grumble. Now then, about the Master...'

'Yes, about the Master.' And suddenly the Doctor is brisk and businesslike. 'What can you tell me, Wilfred?'

'Well, he's back. My friend Winston – you remember Winston, you met him when you were looking for the Master last time, when we found you in the old shipyards...' the Doctor nods impatiently so Wilf ploughs on.

'Well, he's got this little taxi-cab – couple of days a week he takes the old folk to bingo and back. One of the club houses is on the same estate as the old shipyard... anyway, one day he's sitting there in his cab waiting for the bingo to finish when this man staggers across the car park in front of him. At first Winston thinks he's some down and out, 'cause he's all scruffy like, and he's staggering all over the shop like he's drunk. He sees Winston and heads over his way and Winston thinks he'll have to tell him to go away 'cause he doesn't want him in his cab... '

'Yes, yes...' the Doctor leans in close, staring at Wilf with deep set eyes that seem to be searching his soul.

'Well, that's when Winston recognises him as the bloke from his dreams at Christmas. 'It was Harold Saxon', he said to me.'

'And then what happened?'

'Winston panicked and drove away. No way was he going to stick around. He's lost that contract, he reckons.'

'Hmm. Did he see which way the Master went?'

He isn't sure... but he did see him staggering back off in the direction of the shipyard. Said he didn't look at all well.'

So here he is... and there it is; that tiny itch at the back of his mind which says 'Time Lord'. He pushes on, deeper into the wind-swept shipyard.

The Master is lying inside a section of rusty piping. He's curled into a foetal position, arms curled around himself. An old sack partially covers him but it's as wet as everything else and gives little protection from the driving rain. He doesn't appear to be leaking artron energy as he'd been the last time the Doctor had seen him, and there's no taint of it in the air; presumably whatever had happened on time-locked Gallifrey it had healed the Master's fractured body. But he hasn't regenerated, which the Doctor would have expected. So what had happened to him, and how has he ended up back here on Earth?

He reaches out to touch the Master's face. It's pale and bruised. Whatever had happened on Gallifrey, it hadn't been good to him. There's matted blood in his still blond hair, too. The Doctor feels his way around the Master's limbs, looking for broken bones. He doesn't find any but he realises that there could be internal damage. That being a possibility, he probably shouldn't move him. But nor can he leave him here to die, as he almost certainly will unless he's attended to.

The answer comes to him immediately but he resists it at first. He can't ask that of her, not after what had happened. But what choice does he have? And if she knew there were mitigating circumstances... even before he can admit it to himself he's already made the decision. He knows he shouldn't, that he (and possibly she) will live to regret it... but his hands reach into his pocket, pulling out the mobile that's lain there unused for nigh on two years now, his fingers tapping out the number he recalls without any conscious effort.

It rings and rings and he's just working out what his next course of action will be if he has to leave a message when a breathless voice brings back a world of painful memories.

'Hello?' Evidently she hadn't had time to recognise the number before picking up the handset – or perhaps she's forgotten it, it's been so long for her. He sometimes forgets that humans have limited memory faculties – if she hasn't used the number in all that time, it's unlikely she would remember it, he realises.

'Martha?'

'Yes – who is this?'

Of course, she won't recognise his voice, will she? Stupid, stupid.

'The Doctor.'

There's a too-long pause at the other end. Then, 'No, it isn't. How have you got this phone?'

'Martha, listen, it really is me. I've regenerated, so I sound different.'

Another long pause, and Martha's voice when she finally speaks again is guarded but there's an undercurrent of excitement there too.

'Do you know, Mickey and me, we wondered – you were so... _distant_ last time we saw you – you looked ill. Are you okay?'

'Yes, yes, I'm fine now, but there's ... um, how are you, of course, I should ask... you and Mickey?'

Martha laughs, then. 'Now I know it's really you! We're fine, Doctor – in fact, I've got...'

'That's good, really good. Because I need a favour, Martha. A big one.'

'Well, yes, I've kind of worked that one out – why else would you ring me? So what's wrong?'

Ouch. Well, he probably deserves that. 'It's a friend of mine. He's hurt... rather badly. I need to get him to the Tardis but I daren't risk moving him. I wondered if you ... with your medical knowledge... could take a look; maybe help me to move him?'

'Who is it? Anyone I know?'

'Martha, I don't want to talk over the phone. Better if you come and see for yourself. Please? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.'

There's another silence, then a small sigh. 'Alright. Where are you?'

'Do you know the old shipyard? The industrial estate?'

Now Martha's sigh is more pronounced. 'I know it. But it's a big place... how will I find you? I don't really want to be wandering around there in the dark for hours.'

There's something different about Martha now – she's settled back into her humdrum life, it seems, and where once she would have relished the challenge... but it's only to be expected, really. After a year spent tramping the Earth he can hardly blame her. Still, he can't deny a sense of disappointment. His Martha... he should be used to it by now, the way humans manage to put such things behind them as if they'd never happened...but he never is.

'Have you got a GPS/SatNav whatever you lot are calling them these days?'

'Of course, who hasn't?' And he can hear the smile in her voice. It gladdens his hearts.

'Right, switch it on and hold it up to your phone. Just hold it there until you hear the beep.'

'OK, I'll just go and get it, hold on.' The Doctor hears her put the handset down and the sound of footsteps receding as she goes into another room. Then she returns and he hears the beep as she switches it on and picks up the receiver.

'I'm ready, Doctor.'

'OK – hold it still.' He'd pulled out his sonic whilst Martha was fetching the device and tweaked the settings. Now he aims it at the mobile's microphone and activates it. The shrill buzz gives way to a series of beeps before it goes quiet. 'There you go. You should be able to follow it right to my position now.'

'Have you got a new sonic?'

'Yes... the old one got a bit damaged... long story.'

Martha laughs again. 'Okay. Now, before I set out... what are the symptoms?'

The Doctor looks at the Master lying pale and limp, hardly breathing, hardly anything. 'He's unconscious. Don't think he's concussed, not sure about broken bones or internal damage, hard to say. I just didn't want to move him in case I do more harm than good. Once I get him into the Tardis I can use the diagnostics there...' _I don't want him to die_, he thinks. _Not again. Not now. Not ever_. But he can't say any of this to Martha.

'So we'll need a body board and a neck brace...' he hears Martha murmuring to herself.

'I don't know... will we?'

'Well yes, if you're not sure... look, wouldn't you rather I sent an ambulance?'

'No!' That's the last thing he wants. Not only will human medicine probably kill him if nothing else does, but if he survives that then the Master will end up imprisoned for his crimes.

'Okay...well, I'll bring whatever I think useful and I'll see you in about... ten minutes, maybe fifteen depending on traffic.'

'As fast as you can! Please...' He'd handled that badly, he thinks as he snaps the phone shut and turns back to the Master. He feels for the pulse at the Master's neck – it seems weaker, slower and he groans in frustration. He puts his hands on either side of the Master's face and presses his forehead to the others, willing him to stay alive. 'Stay strong, Master,' he whispers. 'Just a while longer... you can do it. You've been through so much... hold on...'

How long he stands thus he isn't sure, but when the sound of approaching footsteps jerks him back to the cold night he straightens up with a groan as stiffened back muscles protest. Uh-oh, Martha has company... he relaxes slightly when he realises that it's Mickey, that between them they are carrying a body board and a bag, presumably medical supplies.

'Doctor..?' Martha's smile is a mix of genuine pleasure and nervousness at his new appearance. She's only known his previous self, unlike Rose who knew him even before that. He takes a deep breath before stepping forward – how he handles this now has never been more important.

'Martha and Mickey! It's very brilliantly splendid to see you both! You're looking well... and _pregnant_,' he finishes as he registers the swell of Martha's belly. Now her reluctance to venture out here makes sense, and he feels shame for his earlier judgement of her.

'Uh, yeah – just a little bit!' Martha places a protective hand over her bump and grins almost shyly at him. He grins back, and nods at Mickey in a man-to-man kind of way that Martha later will remember with much laughter. 'Mickey, definitely not an idiot, eh?'

There's a second when Mickey bristles very slightly at the unfortunate reminder of his early relationship with the Doctor, and then he too grins. 'Too bloody right!'

'Now then,' Martha says, trying to peer around the Doctor's body, which is unaccountably blocking her view of the patient. 'Let's take a look...' she looks up in surprise as the Doctor steps forward to take the both of them by the shoulders and turn them away.

'Martha, Mickey... first I need to explain something... No,' he insists, pulling Mickey back as he tries to turn back to get a look at the patient again, ' I really need you to hear this first. Please. It's important.'

'Ok...' a slow chill starts up Martha's spine. She couldn't have said why, but she somehow knows that this is not going to be good...'Who is he, then?'

'Not so fast. First of all, I know how difficult this is going to be for you. And I don't want you to think I called you lightly...' he sees the beginning of understanding dawn in Martha's eyes and leaves go of Mickey's shoulder to place both hands on Martha's face so that he can look her directly in the eyes. 'Because I didn't... But you were the only person I felt I could trust with this. And things are different, now, because...'

'Harold Saxon? The _Master_?' Mickey's angry shout cuts between them as he stands beside the pipe, a look of horror on his face. Martha pulls away from the Doctor, tears springing into her eyes.

'You brought the Master here? Doctor, I should punch your bloody lights out!' Mickey wheels away from the Master in disgust, and grabs up the medical bag. He strides forward to grab Martha's hand. 'C'mon babe, we're leaving.'

'No, please, listen – just listen to me!' The Doctor steps around to block their way. 'Its not his fault... you don't know... the Time Lords, Rassilon – remember the drums? The noise in the Master's head?'

'I'm hardly likely to forget, Doctor, am I?' Martha says between sobs, and the Doctor is shocked by the depth of her reaction.

'No, no, I didn't mean that... please just let me explain. Then if you still want to leave I won't stop you.' _I could though, stop you. If I wanted_. He shoves the thought away in horror. _No_. 'Please. Just hear me out.'

Mickey snorts, and grabs Martha's hand again, pulls. But she – _oh you beautiful girl!_ – resists, staring challengingly at the Doctor. 'Go on then. I'm listening.'

'Martha, you can't seriously -!' Mickey stops when Martha turns and glares at him.

'Thank you,' the Doctor says softly. 'The Master is insane, you said it yourself, Martha, remember?'

She nods tightly.

'Yes. Well, turns out that was the drums, put there by Rassilon – Lord President of Gallifrey during the Time War – as a way of getting out of the time lock I put them all in. Because they... it's a long story and one we don't have time for right now, but they became monsters, would have destroyed everything, the universe, time, all of it. I _had _to stop them. So I ...did. And then I locked it all away. But they found a way, Rassilon; he broke the first law of time and went back to the Master's childhood. He put the drums in the Master's head when he looked into the Untempered Schism. He was just eight years old, Martha – a child! And the bastard raped his mind, put the drums in as a link, so that he could make contact when the Master finally worked out what the noise was, and amplified the sound... Rassilon used it to pull them all out of the Time Lock. And all this time, the noise was driving him insane. And I didn't believe him; I thought he was just mad, sick. I let him down... and at the end, he saved me, he helped save us, drove Rassilon back into the Time War. He should have gone with them, I thought he had... I didn't know he'd survived, I never thought to look for him... and now he's back, he's here but he's sick, still dying...'

'Doctor...' he feels Martha's fingers on his cheek and only then realises that he's weeping as he talks. He pulls away, wipes shaking fingers over his face.

'Doctor, I'm sorry. But that doesn't change what the Master did, does it?'

'Yeah,' Mickey adds, jabbing a finger at the Doctor's chest aggressively. 'You say it's not his fault, but he could've just gone _quietly_ mad, couldn't he? He didn't have to _murder_ all those people the way he did, didn't have to _enjoy_ it...!'

'I know what you're saying and it's all perfectly reasonable of course, I do understand. But the drums were what he described as 'a call to war' – I can't say for sure why they chose that, except it's the same rhythm as a Time Lord hearts-beat. It just sent him insane until he hardly knew what he was doing. I have to help him... don't you see?'

'No, I don't.' Mickey's face is hard.

Martha is about to say something when an agonised groan from the Master cuts across the tension. The Doctor's hands drop from her shoulders and he's leaning over the Master in two long strides, looking down in despair as the Master shivers violently, his breath coming in short gasps.

'Let me see.' Martha pushes the Doctor aside. She puts a hand on his forehead, pulls up an eyelid, then rests two fingers at the throbbing pulse-point under his jaw. She counts for a few moments, and then swiftly moves practised hands over the trembling body, looking for signs of fractures and internal injury.

'Well, it's not one hundred per cent accurate without an x-ray, but I'd say he has some broken ribs and internal bruising. I'd need to see him in better light than this to determine if there's more severe internal bleeding than that.' She looks up at the Doctor. 'I thought he was dead,' she says almost accusingly. 'How can he have survived cremation, Doctor?'

'He didn't... at least, that body didn't. He had some... followers, and he'd left his DNA in a ring... these people, they found a formula he'd hidden away, and resurrected him. Remember HM Broadfell last year?'

'The explosion?' Mickey asks.

'Yes. That was where he was resurrected by the Cult of Saxon. But something went wrong, and he came back damaged. He was... desperate, wild, killing to eat, just trying to stay alive. He asked me for help... and I didn't understand.' He heaves a breath and fights for self- control. 'But he... well in the end he did the right thing. And I gave up on him. Again.'

'Right...' Martha says. 'Well, I'll help you Doctor, but I want your promise that if he survives, you'll take him away from Earth, and _keep_ him away. Because I – we – can't go through that again. And you shouldn't be asking it of me.' She places a hand protectively on her stomach.

The Doctor looks at her and knows that the wrong word said now will ruin it all. 'Thank you,' he says. 'I _will_ take him far away from here, you have my word.'

'That's good enough for me. Mickey?'

Mickey nods reluctantly. 'I suppose. If it's what you really want, babe. But let me tell you Doctor - if any harm comes to Martha or the baby... you'll wish you'd never came back here, okay?'

'That's understood,' the Doctor can only nod.

'Right then.' Martha walks back to the where the Master is shuddering violently in the pipe, and beckons to Mickey and the Doctor. 'How far is the Tardis?'

'Not far... shall I bring it nearer? Yes, that would be a good idea, I think. I'll be back in a second. Um... don't give him any aspirin by the way – it would kill him.'

'Bloody hell, I think the bloke needs a damn site more'n an aspirin!' Mickey scoffs. He waits until the Doctor is out of earshot before putting a hand on Martha's arm and turning her to him. 'Look, are you sure you wanna do this? For _him_?' he indicates the Master with a jerk of his head.

'I'm not doing it for him, Mickey – I'm doing it for the Doctor. And if we don't, what happens – either the Master recovers and he's still on Earth, and if he gets to hear that we refused to help...' she shudders. 'But if I help him for now and the Doctor takes him away... it's the best we can hope for, isn't it?'

'No,' Mickey says, looking at the Master with distaste. 'The best thing would be if this bastard died now.' He stares hard at the dying man, and Martha shakes her head.

'No. Don't you dare even think about it, Mickey Smith. Because that's not what I do. Besides, how do you think the Doctor would react? He'd probably give up on us, and God knows we need him to be on our side. Remember the 456? What happened when he wasn't around? Like it or not, Mickey, we need him. You said so yourself.'

'Yeah, I know. I just wish this guy hadn't turned up again. What did the Doctor mean, he 'did the right thing'? Seems from what I know of him he wouldn't do the right thing if you paid him.'

'I don't know sweetheart. But I do know that we've got to get him stabilised soon, or he'll be beyond any help. I think I'm going to have to risk a saline infusion now – he's going into shock. Pull his sleeve up for me?'

As she'd been speaking, Martha had been rummaging in the medical bag, Mickey exposes a thin and grubby forearm and Martha grabs a sterile swab. She turns the Masters' arm so that his palm is facing downwards and swabs the back of his hand. It takes two or three swabs before she's satisfied that the skin is clean enough not to risk an infection.

'What the hell has he been doing, living like this?' Mickey remembers Harold Saxon as a smooth bastard who seemed to have no trouble attracting women. Now he just looks like any other down-and-out, except that he doesn't reek of alcohol.

'You heard the Doctor... just trying to stay alive, by the sound of it. His mind must have gone totally... can you hold his arm completely still while I... that's it... damn!'

Mickey had a firm grip but as the needle pierces his skin the Master flinches and whimpers, with the result that the needle skitters across the back of his hand, drawing blood. He tries to pull the arm away but Mickey holds on. A moan begins in the Master's chest, rumbling up through his throat to emerge as an eerie wail. It makes the hair on the back of Martha's neck stand on end.

'What happened?' The Doctor's voice in her ear makes Martha jump. 'Sorry... here, let me...' he pushes in front of Martha and places his hands on either side of the Master's face.

'Master, calm down, we're trying to help, just Sshhh, Sshhh...' the Master quietens and relaxes a little, although he's still shivering violently.

'Thanks... I was trying to get a saline drip in and he flinched and ... well, you can see.' Martha wipes the droplets of blood from the back of the Master's hands. 'Mickey, can you hold him...'

Mickey steps in again and holds the Master's arm firmly as Martha tries with a fresh needle. This time the Master doesn't react as the needle slides into the vein and Martha quickly withdraws the ampoule, leaving the cannula lying on the skin. She quickly tapes it into position and wraps a gauze bandage around the Master's hand to hold it in place, tucking the end into itself and taping it over. She quickly completes the rest of the procedure and lays the saline bag on the Master's stomach.

'Right, now we need to get him onto that body board. I don't think he has any broken bones but it won't hurt. Mickey, slide the board under him there... that's it... Doctor, if you can just lift his legs... there. Just pull that strap...I need that neck brace to be in position...okay, you can move him now.' She steps back, puffing slightly, and puts a hand on her stomach.

'You okay?' Mickey is instantly worried.

'I'm fine, just a bit breathless. It's normal,' she reassures him.

'Okay...' he says doubtfully. 'Doctor, can we just get him on board? I want to take Martha home.'

'Of course, of course,' the Doctor says absently, and takes position at one end of the board. 'If I slide him out, can you manage... actually, I should be at that end, in case he wakes up...sorry,' he hurries to the top of the board and waits while Mickey swaps places with him, taking up the weight at the foot end of the board. The Doctor takes his end and swings them around to face the direction of the Tardis which stands quietly thrumming a few yards away.

'I didn't hear you land, Doctor,' Martha remarks. 'Has she had an MOT or something?'

'er... no... Just remembered to take off the handbrake...'

In spite of her worries, Martha can't help but grin at that. 'Do you mean to tell me...?'

'Yes, well – long time since I took my test... actually I'm not sure I ever did take it... careful now, let's put him down here for now...'

'Wow, Doctor,' Martha exclaims as she follows them into the Tardis' interior. 'You've redecorated...' She isn't sure that she likes the new decor... 'It seems a bit ... well, busy.'

'Well that's me, isn't it, always busy.' The Doctor seems almost waspish and Martha realises anew that this is not quite the same man she knew. Now that they're in the altogether brighter light she can see him more clearly and is startled by just how young he seems – no way would she fancy this Doctor. She feels geriatric in comparison.

Another low moan from the Master reminds her why she's here and she kneels down beside him as the Doctor bounds up a flight of stairs and disappears into the interior of the ship. In the brighter light she can see that the Master looks dreadful – thin, dirty and unshaven, with his hair dyed an unflattering white, he's wearing clothes which have clearly seen much better days and stink to high heaven. He looks like a vagrant.

'What happened to you,' she murmurs, allowing herself to feel a measure of pity for the once smart and erudite man. The Master's eyes flicker open for a brief moment – she sees surprise before they close again and his face twists as he grunts in pain.

'Master..? Can you hear me? You know who I am. I'm here to help you. You're obviously in some pain, can you tell me what hurts?'

'Martha... Jones... Doctor...' he blinks and swallows. 'Hurts...'

'Yes, I am, and he's here. Can you tell me where...?'

The Master makes a sound which could be a laugh or a cough, she's not sure until he does it a second time. He's laughing. He's dying and he's laughing...? But then she remembers the flight deck of the Valiant and another death.

'Master, the Doctor brought me here to help you. He said you'd done the right thing and he's sorry he left you behind...' she hesitates over the word but it _was_ what the Doctor had said, so she ploughs on; 'again. Look, in case you didn't know, he really cares about you and he doesn't want to you die; so come on, tell me where you're hurting and maybe I can help.'

'...don't want ... to die. Hurts... my head... drums...'

'You're still hearing them?' The Doctor appears suddenly again beside Martha's shoulder but this time she manages not to flinch. Despite his gangly, clumsy gait, this Doctor is a lot lighter on his feet than his predecessor it seems.

'...Doctor...?' The Master squints up at him.

'You know it's me. The Drums – I thought the link ... it's broken. You shouldn't still be hearing them!'

The Master closes his eyes and shudders.

'Doctor... you're tiring him... can't the questions wait until he's rested?'

'No... No drums... not you...' The Master quivers, his face going slack as he loses consciousness.

Martha quickly reaches for a pulse point. 'It's okay... he's just passed out.' She turns to look at the Doctor, who is hovering inches from her. He seems to have no concept of personal space, unlike 'her' Doctor, who had seemed to be over-aware of it, at least with her at any rate. 'Don't you want to get him to the sickbay?' She looks at the Doctor. 'You do still have one, don't you?'

The Doctor nods. 'Oh yes, just took me a while to find it...it's not where I thought it was.'

'You mean the Tardis hid it from you?'

'No, not exactly... well all right, yes, she did. But I explained things to her and... It's through there now.'

As the Doctor and Mickey –he has remained silent so far, his eyes roaming the Tardis warily. He probably thinks the Doctor traded the old one in, Martha thinks fondly- carry the Master through a doorway which Martha is certain wasn't there when they first came in, Martha thinks that she can't really blame the Tardis for not wanting to help the Master, not after what he'd done to her. She follows them through into a circular, sterile-looking room which has a high couch and an array of strange equipment ranged around the walls, which are a smooth pinkly white shade. Unlike the console room, here there is no direct lighting; instead the walls seem to glow, suffusing the space with a warm and comforting ambience which Martha realises after a moment is almost womb-like. Well, what better place to put someone in need of healing? It's almost primordial, and very relaxing.

The Doctor pulls down a device which is roughly torso-shaped and lowers it over the Master. He touches a display on the curved side and suddenly the Master's body appears on a display screen which corresponds exactly to his shape. The scanner seems able to penetrate clothing and Martha watches, fascinated, as the display shows the Master's battered form – she can see livid bruising on his chest and abdomen, tiny scratches here and there, but nothing to cause alarm. No gaping bullet wounds, for instance. No navel, either. Another touch of the Doctor's fingers and the display changes, now it's showing musculature and the upper layer of blood capillaries. Again there doesn't appear to be any major injury. The Doctor goes ever deeper, under the muscles (which are thin and wasted) until he reaches the organs. Martha leans forward, captivated and for the first time she understands how completely alien the Time Lords are; Two hearts, one each side of the chest, two lungs, plus a third organ laying over the top of them whose function she can't begin to guess at ('Respiratory by-pass,' the Doctor murmurs, as if he's reading her mind). There are other organs in similar shapes and positions which she guesses perform much the same functions as their human counterparts. And finally down to the skeleton. Martha finally finds her voice and points to the long bones of the arms and legs. 'What are those marks? They look like... old fractures.'

'In a way, they are,' the Doctor says after a moment's silence. 'When we regenerate, the skeleton is the least changed part of us – the basic structure remains fairly constant, although the size can alter. The reforming of the skeletal mass is the most painful part of regeneration.' How can he even begin to describe the agony of it to her? The white heat of bones changing and realigning themselves...

Martha remembers with a sick feeling the inhuman howl of agony that she'd heard even through the locked Tardis doors on Malcassario when the Master had locked them out. Presumably that had been the sound of his regeneration. She shivers. 'My God, Doctor... how can you bear it?'

'Not much choice, I'm afraid. Still... there doesn't appear to be anything too amiss here. I don't know what's wrong with him... and that's so very not good, not at all.'

'He said something about there not being any drums, I thought...'

'But that doesn't make sense,' the Doctor said, snapping the monitor off, for which Martha is grateful – the screens had cycled back to the first layer, and it was somewhat disconcerting seeing what appeared to be a naked (and filthy) Master lying there uncaring while they talked about him. She'd wanted to ask for a sheet to cover him.

'Why?'

'Well, because... the last time we met, he told me that they hurt... that they were 'louder than ever before' was how he put it. He was in quite a lot of pain, what with that and his body coming apart... which seems to have stopped happening, I'm pleased to say. Why he should still be suffering... I don't understand it.'

'Well, if he's been hearing the drums all this time... when did you say it started?'

'Rassilon put them there when he was eight years old,' the Doctor says bitterly. 'He went back, violated the Time Laws, to a moment when he knew the Master's mind would be open, unguarded... and he planted the drums there, a signal so that he could get a fix to pull himself out of the Time Lock. He thought that people would assume the Master was simply mad, and he was right... even the Master believed it.'

'Let me get this straight,' Martha says incredulously. 'Someone _chose_ to do that to him? They deliberately sent him insane? So he didn't have them to start with?'

The Doctor sighs and runs a hand through his mop of unruly hair. 'Yes and no, Martha. He didn't have them all along, not originally. But when Rassilon went back and put the link in the Master's mind, it overwrote what should have been, and it became what is... the Master, none of us except Rassilon, would ever know any different.'

Martha feels sick. 'So this... Rassilon... basically he stole the Master's life that could have been?'

The Doctor nods curtly, his face turned away from her as he stares at the Master. He's rigidly still apart from a small muscle working in his jaw, and Martha realises that he is trying to get himself under control.

'That's ... just ... horrible.' Martha reaches out blindly for Mickey and he's there, pulling her into his arms and cradling her in his arms. The Doctor is oblivious, his gaze fixed on the Master as he sleeps, calm for the time being.

'Yes. Yes, it is. That's what Rassilon and his council became, Martha. That's why I had to end the war the way I did. They had worse than that planned for the entire universe. But the Master was right... I was a coward. I should've ended it properly, but I was... I couldn't. I time locked it instead... so they were as good as dead, but still there... just in case ... oh, I don't know what I hoped that would achieve. I was stupid. And that's how Rassilon was able to go back and put the link in the Master's head. It's all my fault. Now do you see?'

Martha does. She understands it all now – the Doctor's reluctance to simply kill the Master when Jack would have gladly done it for him; his forgiveness of the horrific things the Master had done to her people... and his terrible grief that he hadn't been able to save him at the last, that the Master would choose to die rather than allow the Doctor to be his jailer. And she thinks that if she were the Master, she might just hate the Doctor too. Everything the Master did during that terrible year... perhaps she can never forgive him, but now she has some kind of understanding. The Master was raging at a universe which had fashioned him into a monster. The Earth had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The whole thing was as much the Doctor's fault. She doesn't know quite how to process this, and turns away, burying her face into Mickey's shoulder.

The Doctor finally looks up, and when he sees the expression on Mickey's face he nods. 'Yes, I'm as much a monster as the Master or Rassilon. Perhaps more.

'No, never say that, ' Martha lifts her head from Mickey's shoulder. She's crying. 'You've done so many good things, too.'

'Have I? I lose track...' he sighs again, and turns to look at them. 'I don't think there's much more we can do now. Thank you for this,' he gestures vaguely at the IV. 'You'd best go on home. Look after the little one...' awkwardly, he reaches out and gently pats Martha's bump. And then he steps forward and pulls her to him, bumping their foreheads together. 'Thank you Martha, for doing this even though... well, you know.' He tilts her chin, plants a swift kiss on each cheek. Then he looks up at Mickey, who looks horrified and takes a step backwards.

'Thank you Mickey.' He thrusts out a hand and Mickey quickly takes it, grips hard and shakes.

'No - thank _you_, Doctor. For, well, you know, saving the planet and everything, and for being honest about... all this. Appreciate it.'

The Doctor dips his head. 'No need, no need.'

Martha starts. 'Hang on... look; if he's no better by morning... give me a call, yeah? There might be something else I can do...'

The Doctor manages a tiny grimace that might be a smile. 'Thank you. I will, if I need to.'

As Martha and Mickey take their leave and the door shuts behind them, the Doctor heads for the console and begins to set co-ordinates slowly and carefully.

'Sometimes a Time Lord lives too long,' he says thoughtfully. He hits a final key and the rotors begin their timeless groaning and whirring as the Doctor returns to the sickbay. He lifts the scanner away and pulls the Master into a sitting position. The other time lord stirs and mutters but doesn't awaken as the Doctor pulls him over his shoulder and carries him through to the console room, past the rotors and to the door. He gently props the Master up against the wall and opens the doors. Then he sits in the open doorway and pulls the Master into his lap, sits there cradling the sleeping Master in his arms as he watches the vortex spin by.

'Come on Koschei,' he says quietly. 'Let's go home.'

END


End file.
